and it's become just like a chemical stress
by tinted lens
Summary: Ponzu sits on the bench, alone. She plucks the flower petals one by one. –— pokkle&ponzu, ponzu&anita, au.


**title: **and it's become just like a chemical stress**  
summary: **Ponzu sits on the bench, alone. she plucks the flower petals one by one. –— pokkle&ponzu, ponzu&anita

do not own _hxh_. title and subtitles from rilo kiley. lowercase is on purpose.

_and sometimes lonely hearts, they just get lonelier_

.

once, she calls her.

her number is on her contact list, untouched and oh so tempting to dial.

(her fingertips trace over the buttons for what could be forever – really, she just wants to press it and wait, wait for something to happen and just get her out of her mind— but when she almost does, something that she can't figure out stops her, forcing her to put the phone down.

but, not now.)

she doesn't know why she's calling her, honestly – she can name about five others she _should_ be calling but never got around to – and when she stops to think about it, the dial tone's already ringing.

and, really, anita isn't someone who comes to mind when she hears the word 'friend'. no, not really.

well, yes – they're friends, of course, though it's not really amazing or anything – she's friends with pokkle and anyone who's friends with pokkle is her friend, too, only they're sort of not, she thinks, because she talks with them sometimes and occasionally she laughs along to his jokes, but. but they're just that – no, nothing more.

but maybe, maybe this is a chance.

against all odds, she picks it up. the raindrops _drip-drip-drip _against the glass.

"hello?" she says, and her voice, soft and cold and just a little afraid, reminds ponzu of rainy nights and knives. she imagines hazy green eyes and black hair, on the other side, a thin, barely-there smile on her face.

"hey… anita." she tries to be friendly, but instead her voice is trembling and nervous and she thinks she sounds kind of like a virgin on prom night. which doesn't make sense – but maybe it does, somehow.

she doesn't say anything for twenty-four seconds. ponzu counts.

anita takes a breath. "ponzu, is that you?"

"yeah." she chokes, "how have you been?"

"…fine. i'm fine." she answers, after another ten (eleven) seconds. "just, a little alone."

ponzu replies after twelve. she wonders if anita counted.

"me too."

(she hears anita smile.)

they talk, about life and the weather and unimportant things that somehow make her a little less lonely – a little less sad.

it's eleven and before anita hangs up, she says—

"do you want to get together, sometime?"

_one._ ponzu doesn't know what to make of it, her words or the way she feels a little off-balance, or the way the raindrops fall slower and the air is thicker.

_two_. she closes her eyes. goes with the flow. _drip-drip-drip_.

_three_. "sure."

anita notes her address. ponzu does the same.

she doesn't realize that she's writing with the pretty red-inked pen that she saves for her letters to pokkle, and by the time she does it's already too late to start over.

(the paper ends up on the side of her bedroom wall – the tiny spot that she never pays attention to – so she never looks at it but she knows it's there.)

(she falls down the rabbit hole.)

_and it's all the stupid things, so damn confusing to me_

.

anita does come over, one afternoon, dressed in a too-warm sweater and a skirt that doesn't match. when ponzu spots her in the open doorway she kind of wants to hug her, for some reason she can't fathom.

(but anita's never been a hug person. so ponzu takes that to consideration, and shakes her hand instead.)

everything feels awkward, and suddenly the idea doesn't sound as appealing as it did – but she tries not to think about it. she turns on the tv.

there's this sitcom marathon on air, they laugh along and for a moment, she reverts back to middle school.

(letting go was never going to be easy.)

"i miss it." she blurts out, suddenly.

anita stares at her. _i know_.

she calls pokkle that night.

_don't you know i fell?_

.

soon, it's the three of them all over again.

(their schools were never that far to begin with, anyway.)

their hands are laced together, his fingers between hers and her fingers between hers. they go to places and sing along to the radio.

anita lets her hair down, ponzu wears pretty dresses and pokkle laughs his infectious laugh that she can't seem to get enough of.

her smile is wide and he runs his fingers through her hair and she doesn't think the day can be any more beautiful.

(she likes how perfect it sounds: pokkle&ponzu&anita.)

_and i don't know what that means, but it's not a good sign_

.

in a game of truth or dare, she is asked:

"who do you love?"

she doesn't know who said that. she's too drunk to care.

"love?" she slurs.

"yeah, love."

ponzu asks. she shakes her head, laughs. _only one_. things don't make sense anymore.

(the yellow is too bright tonight.)

she thinks about it. after a while she decides to go to hell with telling the truth (she's always been a good actress) and say that she loves her mother – even though it's not true, not true at all.

instead, she says, "i don't know anymore."

her fingertips trace little hearts in the starry skies.

she takes another shot.

_to sit and think of you_

.

he kisses her on her birthday, after the candles are blown and the songs are sung and the presents opened.

(he tastes like chocolate&summer nights&laughter.)

anita scoffs and says _get a room_, but when their backs are turned she smiles into the empty paper plate.

ponzu smiles back.

_and you ask, "what's a palisade?" and if we're too late for happiness_

.

she kisses her on their second sleepover, brief and sweet and unexpected. it lasts a second longer than it should (should it happen at all?)

anita pulls away first. "what— what was that for?" she says, barely more than a whisper. she doesn't look like she cares.

ponzu bites her lip. "i don't know. it's just something i've wanted to do for a while."

she is silent, decides that she's tired and falls asleep.

she, instead, closes her eyes but doesn't sleep, loses herself in soft instrumentals and a whirlwind of thoughts. the colors are a blur for the rest of the night.

her morning smile is so wide. she thinks it'll break her heart, someday.

_and i don't mind racing through our goodbyes_

.

ponzu sits on the bench, alone. she plucks the flower petals one by one.

the petals run out, slowly falling on blades of grass.

she walks away.

_you've always been barely alive_

.

it's surprisingly easy to forget her.

(sometimes she wishes it isn't.)

their shoulders brush, one time, and he's holding her hand and she's all alone, now – as she could've, would've been.

they don't say anything.

_it's a hard day for breathing_

.

(it's just pokkle&ponzu¬hing; more)

i'm happy, aren't i?

she is.

(isn't she?)

the raindrops _drip-drip-drip_ against the glass.

**what is this i don't even—**

**i mean, like, ponzu/anita. my new crackpair.**


End file.
